This Is For Her
by deadskilletted
Summary: Nico and Bianca Di Angelo were never taken out of the Lotus Casino until the Capitol picks them up and drops them into District 3, a place in the so-called Panem where they force children to compete in the Hunger Games. After losing Bianca, what will he do lost and all alone in a place he never knew?
1. What's Wrong With the Kid

**Disclaimer: I do not own PJO/HoO; rights go to Rick Riordan. I also do not own The Hunger Games; rights to that go to Suzanne Colins.**

_"I volunteer as tribute."_

_We stared at the screen, wondering what the hell was wrong with this kid..._

"Yo, Nico! Get out of whatever little nook you found and get up! It's the day of the Reaping!" a voice yelled, resonating through the small house. The floor was littered with white crayons, black paper, and scrap metal (the metal was Cameron's fault). The voice waited outside until a small boy walked through the unlocked door.

"Couldn't think of a better way to wake me up, Cameron?" Nico asked. He mentally noted his own rumpled hair and clothing, and that he should fix it before the Reaping, no matter how much he hated it. Then again, most people hated the Reaping, but that was beside the point.

"C'mon, I don't know where you came from," Cameron began, using his trademark, as Nico started calling it, "but I know where you are going. You got, like, an hour."

Cameron scrambled away, probably to scavenge something for his own family of two sons and two parents. _Family_, Nico thought, _What a foreign word these days_. He walked back into the house (if it can be considered that) and looked under old pieces of paper and metal in search of food. He didn't own much - just a few sets of clothes and one pair of shoes - and he didn't eat that much, either. After nibbling on an apple that had been protected by one of the metal contraptions, which was protected by a white drawing of a bird (Jabberjay? Bluejay? An angel?), he straightened out his clothing and hair as best as he could, re-tied his sneakers, and set off to find Cameron once again.

_Each and every Valdez is a freaking carbon copy_, Nico thought when he finally ran into Cameron again, who, unsurprisingly, was fiddling with a few twigs, probably building something that will help with nothing whatsoever. Cameron, although 3 years older, was the only one who scarcely noticed little Nico, who constantly had to point out he was not little, and just because that short idiot was taller than him doesn't mean - nevermind. Stupid ADHD (at least that was what he heard it was called). The point was, Nico was practically invisible. Sometimes, he would glance down to make sure he wasn't becoming transparent, even though seeming that way did have its perks.

This included having nearly no problems stealing food and water and cloth to sew onto his pants when they got too short (he never grew out of his all-black shirts or jacket; Cameron said because he was too goddamn skinny, Nico said it was only because his legs were growing insanely long compared to the rest of his body, but not before pointing out that Cameron was scrawny as hell too). He also generated a habit of camping out in small crevices without discovery. The lack of people discovering him was definitely a good thing, because most people don't like finding someone who looks half dead on their way to work. _So I said that District 3 was - oh my! Zombie kid!_

As expected, that was how the rest of the twelve year olds reacted to him at the Reaping. They gave him the widest berth as possible in their roped section, which somehow led him to think about Cameron's remark an hour earlier (and many of times before that). It was true no one knew where Nico was from. For crying out loud, Nico himself didn't know where he came from. All he could remember was a few soldier dudes dragging him and Bianca out of a large door and onto an aircraft carrier, which was something he had never seen, soon to be dropped off in the so called District 3 (out of twelve, or thirteen, or whatever). _Bianca_. Nico repeated the word in his mind, ignoring the other side of his brain protesting against it. _Why the hell are you thinking of her at a time like this? Shut up!_

As if everyone heard the last line of his mental chanting, the crowd went silent. Nico glanced back at Cameron, who was in line with the other fifteen year olds. Cameron returned the glance with a nervous smile. He had his name entered more times than needed, in order to get the tessera for his family. He was oldest, and cared way too much to let his 13 year old brother put in any extra slips until Cameron was could no longer be entered. Nico's name was entered twice; the first slip required, the second for his own tessera. It was his first year he was worrying about getting called up himself instead of his sister, or no one at all. The speech turned out to be a blur, and Nico didn't bother listening until the familiar name of the male tribute was called.

"Cameron Valdez."

Nico stared at a shocked, stammering Cameron, and after introductions, the anouncer asked for volunteers. After the initial silence, a voice cut through. A small, raspy voice (much to the owner's dismay), that must of hurt his throat. It reminded Cameron of a baby bird. Or a crow. Or a pitch black raven. Yes, a pitch-black raven was most appropriate for both the person and the occasion.

"I volunteer as tribute."

Said tribute was led to the stage. He took place of the curly haired boy, giving him a pat on the back while mentally beating himself up. _Dimwit. Stupid. Look what you did. Why the hell did you do it? Did you do it for her? For him? Do you want to die? Is this like some sort of twisted suicide attempt?_ These types of thoughts kept running through Nico Di Angelo's head. Now he occupied the space left for him on the stage, sticking out an icy hand to the female tribute, who was an older girl, Cameron's age, perhaps, with blond hair and green eyes that churned around like the sea. One of those famous Jackson decendents, those eyes told.

"Well, let the games begin."

Yeah, alright. Nico has played enough games to learn it might be over any second. Not that he really could bring himself to mind.

**Author's Note: I'm not sure how often updates are going to be, since there is school, this is my first multi chapter story, and I want to make sure each chapter is 1000+ words. Please review and all that. Not sure how long this will go on for, but I do know how I am going to end it. And its like 2:15 A.M. here so i don't mind any corrections.**** Thanks for reading!**


	2. Television Screens Suck, Don't They?

_He shouldn't of been crying. He really, really shouldn't of been crying. He wasn't the one who was going to get their death filmed for the general public, and he really shouldn't have been anticipating her death, either._

_He was never one to listen to himself, was he? Part of that reason was because he would rather listen to her, because she knew what she was doing, and now that she was a mess in front of him, he needed to be strong, not that he was managing to do so. They both sobbed into each others' shoulders while she pet his hair, like he was the one who needed comforting. Which he didn't, or at least wasn't supposed to, need._

_Was it bad that he was more composed during his own death wish?_

- ... .. ... .. ... .- .-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-

Watching the Reapings throughout the districts was almost as bad as participating in their own.

Almost.

Nothing would ever compare to their own blood freezing over like a magnification of the winter days in District 12, skin tingling as if it was burnt in the same fire as that charred bread, face feeling like it did from the hit that was earned for the burning of those same two loaves. Nothing would be louder than Prim's muffled screams and protests from the very back of her throat, the silence of the crowd, the drunk mentor falling to the ground. Katniss kind of wanted to just fall to the ground, too. She could only guess that Peeta was feeling the same.

Yet, here sat Effie Trinket, wearing enough make-up to create a second skin, Haymitch Abernathy, who was, suprisingly, at least somewhat sober, and the two so _very_ lucky teens who became the Capitol's property within a few short moments, watching recordings of other people in Panem both getting called up and willingly walking to their early demise on a television screen that was uncharacteristically shabby compared to the rest of the train compartments.

The first two Reapings took place in the first two career districts. Both tributes from District 1 held an overconfident stare, although the girl may have been bluffing. The boy from District 2 was acting paticularly eager to fight, overshadowing his partner's sadistic smirk. The other career district, District 4, presented itself a buff girl and a lanky boy, who combined would probably be a deadly combination. Names and faces were soon starting to twist together after that. An agile red-head. A boy with a limp.

However, two segments stood out like sore thumbs. For one, there was the District 11 Reaping, featuring a bulky boy and, to Katniss' agrravation, an exceptionally young girl. Needless to say, no one volunteered for her. Katniss recognized the same fear and disbelief in the girl's expression that was in Prim's (and, embarrassingly enough, her own).

Then there was District 3. Stuck in between two career districts, Katniss and Peeta didn't expect it to be that memorable. Well, expect the unexpected, they supposed. There was yet another non-career volunteer in the 74th Hunger Games.

The boy had dark, silky hair, that probably could've used a nice trimming, though judging by the fact it looked like he sewed the ends of his own clothing together, he would not have been able to afford to get it cut even if he wanted to do so. Multiple strands threaded themselves through his eyelashes and fell into his eyes, which appeared to be onyx at first glance, though when he looks up, they turn out to be the same shade of brown as the crappy coffee people at the Hob will somtimes sell. His skin would have probably been olive toned - similar to Gale's - but it had obviously paled drastically. He couldn't of been more than twelve, and he replaced the other male tribute who looked to be fifteen, with curly black wisps sweeping in an arc across his tan forehead.

Nobody in the train car could figure out any possible reasons for that boy, that _kid_, to go ahead and enter the games. He didn't even display the same terror as the little girl from 11. All of them could see that he didn't train for this, shown by the district number he resided in and his scrawny physique, though his face told them otherwise. Katniss knew that his family would miss him, wouldn't they? Peeta thought about how the fifteen year old would have most likely survived longer in the arena. Effie and Haymitch both figured that the boy had about zero chance of surviving through even the first bloodbath. And judging by the reactions of the crowd, he wasn't exactly favorable, ultimately leading him to have an extreme lack of sponsers.

Katniss and Peeta missed the boy's name in the tape, then again, they missed most of the names. It's not like they wanted to get attached to these people. Knowing their name will make it harder to stay alive in the end.

- ... .. ... .. ... .- .-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-

Nico really didn't like trains. Or screens. Or the fact that half the room was obnoxiously colored and overly shiny. It was a major feat to sit emotionless during the ride to the Capitol.

Honestly, all he wanted to do was scream until his throat hurt and throw things until his arms ached and sleep his life away at the same time. Nonetheless, he forced his emotions into a bottle and popped in the cork, just like a bunch of other tributes managed to do during their Reaping.

He only stayed to wait for the food he was ready to desperately devour. His partner seemed to have the same mindset, proven by her screwed-up face and pursed lips. When they finally started eating, their mentor, who was a tall man with blindingly white teeth and prominent cheekbones, had them get at least somewhat aquainted. The girl had a proud yet nasally voice, their conversation going something like:

"Hello. I guess I should tell you that my name is Erin."

" 'M Nico."

"Well, Nico, how old are you? Wasn't really paying attention to where you were in line."

"Twelve."

"I'm sixteen." Awkward hesitation. "Do you know, the stylists will probably cut your hair."

"Yeah. Along with changing the rest of my 'disqustingly goth' appearance."

Cue soft chuckle from Erin (even though he thought his monotone voice would give away the actual seriousness). "That's the most I've heard you say."

"Cool." His response to almost everything.

Nico abruptly excused himself from the table. As he got up and left, he decided he was going to allow himself to indulge in one of his urges.

Sleep.

**Author's Note: I'm not sure what your guys definition of a long time to update is, but this took 3 weeks, and yeah. I know in the first chapter it had the first person thing, but just go with it. This isnt my best chapter, but I hope you liked it and I plan on finishing this story. I don't have much else to say except, wait. If you guys have any suggestions or corrections or criticism in general, feel free to let me know!**


	3. Stylists and Parades

_He first saw her on the television screen in the Valdez residence. Cameron's little brother and Cameron himself occupied both sides of him on the couch, the adults settled on either armchair. It felt too stuffy to breathe and too cramped to move an inch, not that the three boys took up much room. The room itself was just closing in, and why did they have to watch this, and its not like she is in danger yet, and wait. What._

_He would've done a spit-take if he had any liquid to cough up the moment she was zoomed in on._

_A large headpiece was perched on top of a mane of unnaturally curled hair, wires combing in and out, connecting to her dress. The dress looked like one of the switchboards he always caught Cameron working on. Her face was made to look tanner and more angular, matching her district partner._

_She was pretty, but she wasn't herself. She wasn't his big sister anymore._

_He wouldn't be her little brother anymore by the end of this._

- ... .. ... .. ... .- .-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-

Stylists suck.

Stylists extremely, seriously, absolutely _suck_.

At least in Nico's opinion.

For one thing, he already couldn't stand just how they looked, which had to of messed up his brain's process of interpreting images. Nico could physically feel his pupils focusing in and out, dilating and shrinking, hurting and burning, all from his stylists' (it was weird to think of them as _his_) obnoxious skin tones, neon hair, and failed surgeries that were supposed to make them appear ageless. Not to mention their sense of fashion.

Then there were the accents. Of what Nico actually heard, each stylist had a sugar-coated tone that lifted at the end of each sentence in a not-very-casual manner. The words were formed by high pitched molasses that also seemed to keep their jaws stuck together.

They made him feel like he was some sort of hybrid zoo animal on display, and he was treated as such. He was "beautified" (more like horrified) for the tribute parade as the first three stylists crowded him, clawing at his skin and hair before he is given a pristine white robe to wear until the main stylist decided to show up.

When the person does show up, Nico is told to take off the robe. A man (to his slight relief) paces in a circle around Nico, who now feels cornered, which isn't any better than before. Being observed in such a way by anybody was uncomfortable, especially when that person is voicing their opinions on your nude body outloud, including disturbingly suggestive comments about your thighs and abdomen. Nico thinks that the man, _David_, maybe, would look like a pervert to someone normal considering the way he was staring at his backside.

And, to Nico's joy, though not really, the main stylist finally consults with the other three on his outfit while he eats lunch alone, waiting to model whatever ridiculous clothing they had in mind instead of being butt naked.

The first idea could have been considered neutral ground. The headpiece dug into his forehead a little, now that his hair was cut out of his eyes, and the wires on the golf shirt sparked with electricity every now and then, however, overall, it was okay, though the work shorts made Nico miss his usual black jeans.

The second outfit was definitely the worst. It consisted of a bronze tank-top and tight dress pants, as if that was logical, adorned with blinking lights that threatened to electrocute whoever was within close range, which meant it could manage to successfully burn Nico to a pile of debris with no problem. This one included a headpiece, also, that was much heavier than the first. Nico couldn't discern what it was portraying. With it weighing the same as a steel factory, he figured it was some sort of machine that could very well set his head on fire.

The last option was definitely Nico's favorite. It was an all-black tuxedo, including the dress shirt, with thin bronze, gold, and silver threads sewn up and down the overcoat. Along his legs were multiple computer chips, all of which were green with red controls and a silver strip on one side. His tie was made to look like a dangling gold pocket watch. If you disregarded the bronze paint on his face, Nico thought, then he actually looked like a person and not a dress-up doll.

Being rudely stubborn (he was allowed to be rude if he was going to die soon), Nico begged and pleaded to wear the last set of clothing. His female district partner unknowingly helped him, he ending up in the suit, and she in a long-sleeve, to-the-floor black dress with similar threading at the top, computer chips at the bottom, and a belt that could've been an oversized wrist watch splitting the two designs. Her face was also painted the same shade of bronze.

Despite winning the original fashion argument, Nico and Erin were still forced into the extremely heavy headpieces. They whirled and beeped and ticked above them as they waited to board the chariot.

- ... .. ... .. ... .- .-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-

As it turns out, sleep deprivation catches on quickly. Peeta could easily pick out the tributes who also had a restless night.

Along with him and Katniss, the boy from 10 looked like he was about to collapse on the spot (then again, he always did, with that bad leg of his), the girl from 9 had an exhausted expression under her make-up (that was fiery red and thick on her face), and both tributes from 11 and 3 could have been sleepwalking (though he doubted they were because District 3's headpieces required a conscious person along with sheer willpower to keep them upright).

Peeta stared down at his own outfit once again. A black unitard, a bright, streaming cape, and a matching headress, all of which could potentially turn him into used petroleum within the hour. Lovely. He'd be the first tribute that the Capitol would leave to die before the actual games. Stepping into the chariot, a torch is brought by one of the stylists, Cinna, Peeta thinks, and sets his cape and headress aflame. As he and Katniss grab each other's hands, the camera's are on them. The crowd is practically at their fingertips, under their feet in excitement and awe. Out of the corner of his eye, Peeta sees Katniss blowing kisses and the Capitol citizens desperately reaching for the empty air afterward.

The air isn't the only thing empty as everything goes in one ear and out the other. It isn't until after the red-not-really-hot curls are extinguished and the two tributes exit the chariot does Peeta notice the glares full of envy and the twisted lips thirsty for blood heading his direction. One boy seemed relieved at his own lack of attention, though Peeta must've imagined it, because the look was gone and replaced with a deflated slump a second later, as if the facial ecpression wasn't actually there in the first place. However, Peeta almost forgot about it completely when Katniss kissed him on the cheek.

At the Training Center tower, Peeta rode on the crystal elevator with Katniss, Effie, and two other tributes. District 3, possibly. The girl was around his age, with soft green eyes that contridictorily held an intense, leveled gaze. She still wore the parade outfit, although some of the bronze paint had smudged off her face, making the remains of it look like oil stains. The boy was a few years younger and a whole head shorter. His eyes were dark and his skin was pale. Both headpieces and his jacket struggled to stay tucked under his arms, leaving him in an equally black dress shirt. He partially stood behind the girl.

As Effie gushed about her day racking up potential sponsers, the girl interupted and pushed her hand out. "Erin, and you guys?" she prompted.

Katniss was obviously wary, while Peeta returned the gesture without hesitation. "Peeta Mellark. District 12."

The girl smirked slightly. Peeta had a feeling that was just how she smiled. "Well, based on the floor I'm exiting onto, you can guess what district we're in."

Erin left abruptly when the elevator doors slid open. The boy, who Peeta didn't catch the name of, followed behind, though not before eyeing all three of them.

Ascending nine more floors, Peeta couldn't help but pick out the differences in stature between Erin and Katniss when they talked to him.

And Nico did the same mental breakdown of himself and the blond boy on the elevator. He wishes he could steal some of his confidence, no matter how fake it might've been.

Nico was going to need it if he wanted to live (but did he really want to?).

**Author's Note: A quicker update (I think), and I'm hoping the writing has quality, too. Not sure when the next one will be, 'cause I got a oneshot I need to do. Review, follow, favorite, and all that, and I'm open to critisism.**


	4. Flying to the Roof

_She had spun her head in a circle, automatically knowing that her caliber was one of the weakest._

_First trying out the stations that were needed to simply live in the arena, she decided that she should probably test her strength. She practically lived in a shed, she could figure out basic survival skills quickly enough._

_That was when she found her passion for using a bow and arrow. And traps. And camoflauge._

_And staying alive._

- ... .. ... .. ... .- .-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-

Training, Nico realized, is one third learning survival skills, one third awkwardly using lethal weapons, and one third trying to define the line between confidence and arrogance.

At first, he stands there, considering. Some tributes, typically the careers, saunter to the nearest potentially dangerous object and turn it into a definitely dangerous projectile. Others grab swords or start doing hand-to-hand combat against the "experts," as Atala calls them. A select few go to the stations that Nico has deamed "the camping skill stations," which included learning skills such as tying knots and making shelter. He joins them.

Nico starts at the fire starting station, because he might as well die dramatically instead of freezing or getting some sort of animal-related disease (he figures he should add "learning to hunt for food and finding plants" to his agenda for today). The trainer excitedly shows him how to get a small flame going and warns him that the smoke might attract other tributes. He tells her that he'll definitely remember that in the arena, even though he knows he will most likely forget it when the time comes, and the trainer will have a dissapointed look on her face as he slowly dies walkng through the landscape.

_Wow, I'm definitely an optimist_, Nico mentally comments as he walks over to another station. This one looks like the can-I-eat-this-without-dying station where he can learn about how to tell different plants apart. All he can seem to get out of it is that nightlock berries are bad and look suspiciously similar to other edible plants.

Looking up from testing his knowledge, Nico notices the small girl (not that he can judge since she is probably the same age as him) attempting to throw a spear at a target, and although she had good aim, she wasn't quite strong enough to make the spear reach designated point. Partially since the trainer could care less, and partially because he kind of felt bad, Nico walks over to the girl. She turns to him with large brown eyes only a few shades wider than his own and a whole lot shinier. She has the same twinkle that Bianca had.

"Here, uh," Nico mumbles oh-so intelligently to the girl, "How about you, um, try something lighter." At first, the girl looks behind her as if to check if Nico was really talking to her, which makes her hair flip around her head and face. Then her confusion is replaced by a slightly hurt expression. Nico quickly adds "I'm not saying your not strong, it's just, uh, how do I put this..."

All of the sudden, the girl starts giggling slightly before sobering up again. "Who are you?" she asks. Nico almost retorts until he realizes that she is asking a valid question, considering he is some random kid who could be setting up to kill her at any moment.

"Oh, right, it's Nico," he murmers sheepishly.

After a small hesitation, she replies "I'm Rue, District 11."

"District 3." Rue might of been slightly appalled by the answer, however, if she was, she didn't show it.

"So, uh," he continues, "hold on here." Nico scans over the stations with his eyes when - _Perfect_. He makes a grab for the weapon. "Here," he says, handing the slingshot over to her. She seems reluctant to take it and even moreso confused about what to do with it. "Hit something," he instructs with a roll of his hands when he notices her confusion.

"Sure. Sure," Rue says, shaking her head to somehow rid of her own internal mini-battle and shoots at one of the targets. It misses the entire target by several inches.

"Do it again," Nico states. She does so, this time hitting the target a little under the bulls eye. Without a reminder, she shoots a third time, the small stone slamming into the center circle. "Nice."

Rue continued practicing with the slingshot to see Nico still standing there. She stops mid-aim.

"N-Nico?"

"Yeah?"

"What good will this do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what can a slingshot do against the other tributes?"

He seems to think hard before answering. "You can confuse them. Load knives into it. It's also pretty easy to build if you can't get a hold of one, or a different weapon."

Rue has thoughts of her own. "What reason is there for me to trust you?" she wonders outloud.

Nico pauses for a moment. "Nothing. At the same time, there is no reason for you not to trust me." He tilts his head to the side ever-so slightly. "Except that I'm young, inexperienced, and going into the arena with you. Otherwise, none either way."

Rue watches the boy move towards another station to start swordfighting until she decides to walk to the tying station.

Maybe she could learn to make a decent slingshot.

- ... .. ... .. ... .- .-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-

Peeta was irritated.

And frustrated and furious and tired and worried and a little sad and a little desperate and kind of scared.

But mostly irritated.

Then there was Katniss, being (at best) indifferent towards him, and Haymitch, forcing this artificial friendship, and the other tributes were just looking at them weird, and most of them were bigger and stronger and so much more violent.

And there were smaller tributes, too, that should not have been there, because they are still young, and there are two twelve year olds, and the odd encounters with them weren't making things any better.

On the second day of training, Peeta had run-ins with both of them. One was a girl named Rue, from District 11, that looked about ten and about to fly from the basement to the roof. Or at least the ground floor. She was pretty in a petite way, and could have been made from satin.

The other was a boy, named Nico, who was about the same age as the girl. He was all rough edges and nervous energy, radiating a cold feeling like the snows of District 12, except darker. Like the shadows from under the barren branches of a rotting apple tree. He seemed to be aquainted with Rue at the very least. Peeta didn't realize until later that this was the volunteer from District 3 that he met in the elevator.

Neither of the two hung around with their district partner. Rue was expectional with plants and climbing, and everytime she hit the target with her slingshot, Nico's face lit up just a little. Nico could easily use camoflauge and was decent with a sword to Peeta's and seemingly his own surprise.

At times, it was funny to watch the odd pair of tributes, depending on the station. Across from them at the fire starting station, Peeta and Katniss could hear Nico muttering to himself; "Stupid... camping... ugh." Rue would steal weapons and hide them, frustrating the older tributes, and making him and Katniss snicker every time.

However, the strangest occurence happened a day earlier at the camoflauge station. Nico had shuffled over to Peeta and pointed out to add lights, darks, and textures, telling Peeta, "Might as well die on your own terms. Not by some blood-thirsty teenager. Or some mutt, mind you."

The small converstion was a little off-putting for Peeta, especially coming from a young boy who probably grew up with technology. _Huh_, he thought, _Never looked at painting that way. Not sure if I wanted to._

- ... .. ... .. ... .- .-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-

The night after the last day of just group training places Nico on the roof. The next day he would have to have his private session in the afternoon, and he had no clue what he was supposed to do. He currently stared at the garden in front of him, briefly noting the fact that there might be plants that artificial in the arena, before shaking his head and leaning on the railing.

"I wonder whether Bianca ever came up here," he mumbled to himself, looking down at the twinkling lights that pooled together in the busy city. It reminded him of the pixelized skyline in one of the games he used to play in the hotel where you went on different quests in a place called New York (he wasn't sure if it actually existed or not). Nico considered pretending that the Capitol's city lights were stars, so he could wish on each car as if it were falling, and forget about how depressing this all actually is. But he simply leaned off the roof a little farther. His feet lifted off the ground, and he swung his legs over, starting to dangle dangerously. Pushing off with his hands, he fell foward. He couldn't stop himself.

Then he got pushed right back. The electric shock crescendoed through his whole body, making Nico twitch as he flipped over the railing and landed flat on his back on the cold concrete of the roof. Curling into himself, he layed there for the rest of the night, blissfully yet painfully unaware, even if only for a little while.

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait! Okay, so the beginning italisized part (if you were wondering or confused) is Bianca when she first entered group training. And then I guess it's Nico's POV, then Peeta's, then back to Nico's. I don't plan on using a Katniss POV. This is the lingest chapter so far, and yeah, was that a successful cliff hanger? Suggestions and critism are welcome! Hope you like reading! [and I only need the one disclaimer in the beginning... right?]**


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